Meeting Matt Smith
by mrssmitheleven
Summary: Rose Taylor is a twenty something girl who is working for her Uncle's car service while going to college. One of her fares turns out to be be the one and only Matt Smith on his first visit to Manhattan.


"Hey luv, mind picking up some jammie dodgers on your way 'round? Thanks!"

The phone vibrating on the nightstand makes me sit upright in bed. I rub my eyes and look at the clock on the bedside table. 4:40AM.

"Ugh…I guess whoever that is just beat the alarm anyway." I sigh to myself as I reach for the iPhone now perched precariously on the edge of the nightstand. I read the message once, then again thinking that maybe I'm still not all the way awake.

"What the..?" I think as I look at the number, which has no name associated with it. "Must be a wrong number. What the heck is a jammie dodger anyways?" I look at the clock again and realize I need to get going or I'm going to be late for work.

I work as a driver for my Uncle's limousine company in Manhattan. I know it seems like a strange job for a girl, but I've always been an excellent driver, which is hard to come by in New York. We do mostly Airport runs, quick and easy, and the tips are usually pretty good. It gets me through school, which is all I need anyway. I want to do special effects in TV and movies, and I've only got another semester left before I graduate.

I hop out of bed to get in the shower, but first I decide to be nice and let the 'jammie dodger' know they'd gotten the wrong number.

"Sorry, I think you have the wrong number – I don't even know what that is!" I reply, giggling.

I set the phone down on the bed, grab my uniform and a towel and pad off towards the bathroom. I know I don't have much time, so I decide to dry my near waist length blonde hair as much as possible and then just put it into a neat sideways braid since I won't have time to straighten it. I get the uniform on, which really consists of a men's suit tailored to fit me. I throw on my shoes; grab my purse, keys and phone, and head out the door. Not until I get to the last of the four flights of stairs do I realize the message indicator light on my phone is blinking. I decide to wait until I get out onto the street to check it.

"Come on, luv, everyone knows what that is – sort of a biscuit or I guess you'd say cookie, with some raspberry jam inside. Your uncle said you could get me whatever I need before my flight, so please!" the message read. I was incredulous. My uncle was not only giving out my personal number to strangers, but also promising them that I'd be their personal errand girl… what the heck?

When I get into the office, my Uncle is sitting at his desk and looks at me sternly.

"You're supposed to be at the Waldorf in twenty minutes, Rose." He states, pointing to the large watch on his plump wrist. "And Mr. Smith has already called stating you didn't know what the cookies were he wanted!"

"Well, since when am I supposed to be more than a driver? And since when are you giving out my *personal* number?" I asked back, angrily.

"Calm down, Rosie. Mr. Smith is potentially a very big future client. His agent said he needed to have someone to contact in case he needed anything since this is his first time in NYC. I didn't think you would mind. I'm sure there will be a nice tip in it for you..." he said as he handed me the keys to fleets' newest stretch. He also handed me my ID and the client's information, flight and gate numbers.

"Fine, Uncle, but please don't give out my number again without telling me, okay?" I replied, taking the papers and heading out to the car.

As I got settled into the Cadillac stretch, I thought of where I could possibly get the raspberry cookies from. I remembered my friend Sheila was interning at a bakery a few blocks away, a little out of the way from where I had to go to pick up the client, but if they had what he was looking for, it would be worthwhile.

After a successful cookie mission, I headed towards the Waldorf with a dozen of the raspberry shortbread confections wrapped nicely (for a price!) on the front seat. I pulled up to the Valet section and Johnny, recognizing me waved me over to the area where I could park and go inside to greet my high paying fare.

"Morning, Rose, looking sweet as ever." Johnny smiled as he opened the Cadillac's front door for me.

"I'm still not going out with you, Johnny, but that was a nice try!" I replied, and flashed him a bright smile as I headed in to the hotel lobby. He was a nice guy, but I was graduating soon and I had no idea where I would be getting a job. Hopefully LA, since I wanted to work on movies and TV. No sense in getting involved here when I wouldn't (hopefully) be here much longer.

I walked in to the Waldorf's spacious lobby and up to the Concierge's desk. A plump middle aged woman just stared at me, but said nothing.

"I'm here from Taylor Limousine for a Mr. Smith, for his ride to Kennedy." I state flatly to old stuffy britches.

She takes the glasses off her head and places them on her nose as she looks me up and down,

"You're the driver?" she asks, cautiously. "You don't look like a driver."

I take out my ID and the flight and gate info my Uncle gave me and handed it over. She spent an inordinate amount of time examining the documents and even called my uncle to ask for a description because for some reason she just couldn't fathom that a twenty-something girl would be a limousine driver, I guess.

Once she is satisfied, she calls up to the client's room, to advise him that his ride has arrived.

"Mr. Smith, your, um, driver is here." She pauses, "Oh, I see, very well. Yes, you want me to what? Are you sure? Well, if you insist…" and she hangs up the phone, her cheeks flushed in irritation.

"Mr. Smith has changed his flight to a later time. He says you were to have brought him something, which he would like for you to deliver to him in his room, suite 1309." She states to me, snippily, pointing towards the elevator.

"Now wait just a minute, that wasn't part of the deal. Who is this Smith character, anyway?" I ask, frustrated that my day isn't panning out to be as easy as I had originally anticipated. I should have known she wouldn't cooperate, as she had already turned her back and ignored my question. I had no choice but to go out to the car and grab the bakery box, bring it up to the suite and find out what exactly this guy thought he was doing messing with my schedule like this. What did he think; I was at his beck and call? He could just change his flight however he liked and it would just be okay? Well he has got another think coming!

The ride in the elevator to the 13th floor felt like it took an eternity. My arms were getting tired holding the stupid box of cookies perfectly upright, because the _last _thing I needed was some spoiled jerk complaining to my uncle that I crumbled his cookies. When the bell finally rang and the door opened, I exited onto the 13th floor with a sigh. I looked for a sign of which way the suite was, when all of a sudden a double door at my right opened, startling me. I turned at the noise, and walked right into the chest of a rather tall and lanky man, and looked up into a pair of the darkest green eyes I'd ever seen.

"Are _those_ me jammie dodgers?" he asked hopefully, in the sweetest British accent. It took a moment for it all to register, the voice, the accent, the name.. Mr. Smith was MATT SMITH, of the Dr. Who Matt Smith.

"Uh, um, yes, well they are the closest thing we have here in the States, Mr. Smith." I responded, once I was able to collect my thoughts. MATT-FREAKING-SMITH.

"Brilliant!" he said, ear to ear grin spreading across his face. "What's your name, then?" he asked.

"It's, uh, R-Rose, Sir. Rose Taylor. " I stammered. Dammit, Why couldn't I just speak properly? "Is there something else I can get you?" I ask.

"Did you say Rose Tyler?" He asks, incredulous, still with the grin on his face. "Like Billie Piper's role?" he continued.

"No, TAYLOR." I answered. "I get that quite a bit though, since the show has gotten so big here in the states." Wow, finally a full sentence without tripping over my words. At this point he is walking back towards his suite. "At what time should I come back to take you to the airport, Sir?" I ask at his retreating back.

"No, no. Taylor, come in." he states as he continues into the suite. "And bring me jammie dodgers, the tea is almost ready!"

I stand there in the hall for a moment, in stunned silence trying to figure out if this is really happening or if I am in fact still fast asleep in my bed. I pinch myself to ensure that I am, in fact, fully awake before entering the luxurious hotel suite. Once inside, my go immediately to the sitting area where Matt has a tea service set up with two cups of the most amazing smelling tea set out. He is sitting on the plush sofa with his long legs crossed looking across the room at me expectantly with a sly smile on his face as I just stand barely inside the door.

"Well close the door, then, Taylor." He laughs. "The tea will be cold by the time you get your arse up here with the biscuits!" He's gesturing me to come over to where he is sitting, motioning to a place next to him on the sofa. "I won't bite, not unless you ask me to!" he chimes in gleefully, his accent making me weak in the knees.

I close the door behind me, careful not to drop the bakery box. Once the door is closed, I carry the box over to the sitting area and set it down in front of Matt on the table. I take a seat about two feet away on the very large sofa, and he turns his dark green eyes at me with a mischievous look.

"Do I smell rank or something?" he teases, pretending to check his underarms for any sign of smell. I giggle, as I have always been amused by the physicality of his humor.

"Not at all," I respond "I just didn't want to crowd you, is all. I know you must get mobbed pretty much wherever you go nowadays, thanks to the show." I continue. At this, he moves to within a few inches of where I'm sitting. Close enough to where I can smell the cologne he is wearing. His scent, mingled with the aroma of the tea, and that of the cookies is almost too much to take so early in the morning. I jump quickly to my feet.

"Do you mind…uh... if I use the ladies room?" I stammer, cheeks flushed, feeling like an utter fool.

"Of course, luv, whatever you need." He winks, and smiles as he waves his hand in the direction of the facilities.

I didn't really need to go; I just needed a momentary escape, to sort myself out. I stare at my reflection in the mirror for a few long moments. I think how funny it is that I find myself in the presence of the Eleventh Doctor dressed almost exactly as the Tenth Doctor would have dressed. Dark blue pinstriped suit, very fitted. White blouse, patterned tie. I just don't have the long brown trench coat (although of the weather had been colder, I just might have!). I had been growing my golden-blonde hair since about the third grade, so it now reached just above my belt line. Since I knew I didn't have much time to do anything fancy this morning with it (a fact I am now cursing) I had thrown it into a kind of sideways braid which actually didn't look too bad, with a few wild tendrils escaping here and there. The worst thing was that my face was completely devoid of any and all makeup, not that I really wore all that much to begin with. Usually just some eyeliner and maybe some shiny lip gloss. After looking myself over in the mirror once again, making sure the suit jacket buttons weren't pulling at the chest (one of the jackets I had was a little snug, thankfully I hadn't worn that one!), I was ready to face Matt again. I walked back out to the sitting area to find him sipping from an elegant floral china cup.

"This tea is just brilliant, you have got to have a cup!" he insists as he sets his cup back onto the saucer. I sit back down, about a foot away this time, making sure to sit up properly and trying not to slouch. He hands me a cup and I take a sip.

"Mmmmmmmm." I say to him, "It really is good, and I don't really drink tea that much."

"Tsk, tsk." He replies. "You Americans could do with a bit more tea, I say!" he laughs, as he takes a bite of one of Sheila's raspberry shortbread cookies. "I quite like these," he says, "Not exactly a Jammie Dodger, but quite good in its own right!" He takes another cookie from the box and holds it out to me, not for me to take in hand, but for me to take a bite of. Being a good sport, I set my teacup down and try as nonchalantly as possible to take a small bite from the cookie he has proffered.

Apparently I didn't realize just how much raspberry jam was in the center of this cookie, and wound up with a good amount of it down the side of my mouth. He laughs as I lean down to get a napkin from the table and the next thing I know, I feel his hand on my knee, and his soft lips brushing the side of my mouth, his tongue softly flicking the jam from my skin.


End file.
